Unspeakable desire to see, and know
          All these his wondrous works, but chiefly man,
          His chief delight and favor, him for whom
          All these his works so wondrous he ordained[…]
                    —Milton¹

Priestly, then, this distance from them
     when bleeding like weekends to days
     weakening with frivolous works
     knees and shoulders blades burden, burn
     with aching uncertainty phrase
     compromising shape from words frees.

This must be its meaning, then. Frees,
     as breaking his embrace does, phrase
     to invitation taking burn
     to this conclusion few of them
     except for him fights. Cooling works
     of merciful refusing days

wasted invoking its ruse days
     after days of making it works
     no longer, this excuse. That burn
     of this chest to another’s frees
     when pressed, when held against hurt. Burn,
     then, with dissonance, with sweet phrase

emptying as overturned, phrase
     bled of meaning the more heard. Burn
     beneath notice surfaces. Frees
     for congregating eyes, these days
     more than inclined to perceive them,
     what kind of touch ours is which works

from within mysteries ways works
     of subtlety betray us, them,
     and everyone else whose days
     they spend trying to describe. Phrase
     conveys no absolution. Frees,
     though, those accusing of each burn

what, in very truth, scorches burn
     to ashes passion this feared frees.
     For, kept as a secret, needs phrase
     whatever left unspoken works
     from broken hearts to fill with days
     awakenings open to them.

          Dark-souled nights in moments from them
               thrown go on to illumine works
               wherein two men emerge one phrase.

__________
¹John Milton, “Book III”, Lines 662–665, of Paradise Lost in Paradise Lost: Edited by William Kerrigan, John Rumrich, and Stephen M. Fallon, published at New York by The Modern Library in 2008; page 118.